Uneven Ground
by irishcookie
Summary: Bonnie Bennett is making it hard for Klaus to ever forget her name.  A multichaptered fic based around 3x18 and then goes AU from there.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: ****Yes this aims to be a multi-chaptered Klonnie fic. I really have no business writing this, because a) I have never really written a multi-chaptered fic and b) I really have no solid ending in mind at this point, it is just kind of evolving. But thanks to 4 minutes of screen time last episode I can't seem to get this out of my head. So here you go, a Klonnie story that surrounds the events of 3x18 and then moves off in its own direction after that. The prologue is meant to set the stage. It's in Klaus' POV but the actual chapters switch to Bonnie's POV.**

**Prologue**

It is almost endearing – how they walk on eggshells around him.

Even compelled, humans understand to give him a wide berth; to avoid him where possible and to never ever lie to him. They press themselves into the wall when he walks past and he pays them no mind – after all, unless he requires something, they are just walking breathing blood bags.

Tonight, however, they seem extra timid.

Which tells him something is wrong.

Klaus frowns as he closes the door behind him, watching the tiny slip of a girl scurry out of the room. He can't remember where he picked her up; perhaps she is the one he lured from the bar with promises of freedom from her abusive father. He follows her into the recesses of the house, moving at his usual languid pace and finds that she has backed herself into a corner in the kitchen. "Love?" For he does not know her name and he does not care to know her name. In his lifetime he has known many 'loves' and 'sweethearts'.

It takes someone extraordinary to stand out enough for him to remember a name.

"I tried," she says immediately and he realizes from the way she curls into herself that she is indeed the poor unfortunate soul who served as a punching bag for her dear old dad. He tilts his head as she stares into the floor. He can't keep her long – she'll only trip over her own two feet to keep him happy. While he is fond of absolute obedience, he cannot afford mistakes.

"You tried?" Klaus questions slowly, taking great pains to keep his voice even. He does not need another human female quivering on the floor.

"She won't listen to reason. I don't think she cares at this point," she counters, obviously choosing her words carefully. In the end, Klaus knows she wants no part of the blame.

His eyes shift around the once polished room, noting that his humans have become sloppy. No doubt they spend too much time worrying and not enough cleaning up after themselves. His keen senses detect the beginnings of food rotting and it takes control not to curl up his face in disgust. There are days when he would like nothing more than to burn this place to the ground.

Perhaps he will indulge that particular desire soon enough – if he does the intelligent thing and leaves this place.

Klaus sees it now – the tray tucked to the side, almost out of place in the building filth. The food there is fresh…and untouched. He presses his lips together, inhales deeply, and watches as she crumbles before him. Annoyance bristles within him. "I am not mad at you, sweetheart. It is not your fault she is a stubborn fool," Klaus says softly, speaking to her as if she were a frightened child in need of coaxing. He supposes in a way she is. He reaches for the tray, ignoring how she flinches on reflex.

It has grown cold – and that is how it will remain. Klaus is in no mood to reward disobedience.

He carries the tray down up the winding staircase, aware that his little minion is dutifully on his heels. He stops in front of the solid oak door. Four days ago a ward had been put on the door, resulting in a rather painful burn. However, he knows that took a great deal of energy and therefore it is unlikely it will be repeated.

"You stay right there, love," Klaus says and out of the corner of his eye he can see the glassy eyed human go perfectly still. He briefly wonders how long she can stand there before she collapses. Perhaps another day he can find out – right now, he has more pressing matters.

Klaus opens the door slowly, mindful that while his guest may be without power, she is still prone to violent outbursts. He braces himself in case she decides to charge at him again. The previous attempt had caught him off guard, and he doesn't relish the feel of her nails in his face again.

However, it soon becomes clear that she is not going to attack him. In fact, she is not going to do anything. For she is curled into a ball in the corner. Her eyelids flutter but he is not sure if it is in response to him for he has been whisper quiet. He can see it now, the way she is fighting her own body for control. She is weak, barely able to keep her own eyes open at the moment. "Look at what you've gone and done to yourself, love," he says as he advances. Once he is close enough, he crouches, setting the tray to the side for the time being. "I have to wonder what you are hoping to accomplish by your little display. It makes no matter to me if you are passed out from dehydration."

She lifts her head slowly, and he smiles when he sees it – the flash of her eyes that tells him that while she may be down for the count, she is not out. "Go to hell."

"Original response," Klaus drawls, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. It feels limp in his hand and it is all he can do not to laugh as she flinches at the contact. "Your mind is not as sharp as usual. Perhaps you should reconsider your plan to starve it."

She pulls herself up to a seated position, her eyes narrowed. He does not move, not even when she presses her back against the wall. It is as far as she can go. "How I do know you're not trying to poison me?"

It is an unexpected response. Klaus makes a face before he laughs, the sound echoing through the lavishly furnished room. "I believe I explained this all to you before. I need you alive. If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you already." He pushes the tray toward her now, and sees the way she almost lurches for it. There is a war between body and mind going on inside her. He wonders how much longer she can hold back instinct. "Eat," he says simply.

Her response is swifter than he thought possible for someone in her state. In a matter of seconds, the tray is over turned and he is wearing a good portion of it. He grimaces as he rocks back on his heels. "I would like you to remember that you were the one who brought us to this," he tells her before standing. He can feel her eyes on him as moves, and he reaches the door before he turns back. "Whatever happens next is on your hands, love."

Despite it all – the hunger, the listless energy, the deplorable conditions she finds herself in, she narrows her eyes and reminds him of why she is fast ensuring he will never forget her name.

Bonnie Bennett – defiant even in the face of overwhelming odds.


	2. In the Lion's Den

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for the warm reception of my little tale. Like I said, I really was inspired by 3x18 so you will that play out over the next few chapters before it goes AU. As well, in order to keep up with the demands of a multichaptered fic I will be doing a posting schedule. Monday is the day people! Hopefully I will be able to keep up because my life can get hectic. Now, on to the Klonnie! **

**Chapter One**

_A week earlier _

Bonnie is awakened by the shrill sound of her phone.

As it continues to ring, she squeezes her eyes shut in a last ditch effort to chase the sleep wherever it decides to run off to but finds herself awake instead. _Wonderful_. She rolls to her side, her hand blindly reaching out for her phone, desperate to stop the noise. She blinks as she pulls it back enough to read the display.

_Elena Gilbert._

She is not as desperate anymore.

Bonnie lets it ring out, noting that Elena seems extra determined in the morning. When the phone finally goes quiet, she is wide awake.

This is not how she planned her day to begin.

**X**

By the time she has showered, dressed and had something resembling a breakfast an hour is killed. Usually she is much quicker than that but at the moment she finds her movements sluggish, hampered down by lack of sleep and an erratic eating schedule. She is practically dragging her feet as deposits a bowl in the sink.

Her phone comes to life again – a staccato beat that indicates a text.

_Oh Elena_, she thinks wistfully as she shuffles toward the kitchen table, _just let me have one day. One day to wallow in self-pity because I don't even know if my mother has met the business end of a stake or not. Then I'll go back to being Bonnie Bennett, concerned friend and witch extraordinaire. _

Or at least pretending to be.

She furrows her brows when she sees the source of the message.

_Stefan Salvatore._

She chews her bottom lip into her mouth, sucking for a moment as she considers just what she can do. There are only really two options at play here – she can read it or she can delete it (well, she really has three: she can do Option A followed by Option B).

For the sake of her sanity, she chooses Option B.

She doubts he can formulate a sincere apology in 160 characters any way.

The phone gets buried in bag and she sinks down on the bottom step to reconfigure her day. She had planned to sleep most of it away but the moment Elena's call had pulled her awake, her head filled with so many thoughts that it became near impossible to do so.

She had never thought of a backup plan.

She sighs, the sound harsh in the empty silence of her home and then runs a hand through her hair. There are too many hours in this day – too many opportunities for too many emotions. She should just pull herself together, hold her chin high and call Elena.

She should, but she can't.

Because, dammit, she deserves a _day_.

Even if she doesn't quite know what to do with it.

Her eyes drift close but she knows she will not sleep curled up at the foot of her staircase. She will, however, let herself get overwhelmed by all the notions in her head – for a moment, just a moment.

_She should find Abby. _

_She should forget about Abby. _

_She should leave Mystic Falls. _

_She should make Damon Salvatore pay. _

_She should take a step back, look at the logic of it all and let it go. _

_She should kill..._

The stream of consciousness is interrupted by a simple knock at the door. Her body jolts as her eyes open and she is reaching for the rail to pull herself up before she can think twice. For a moment, she stands, clutching the scarred wood, her eyes glued to the door.

She can ignore it, just like she can ignore the phone.

_No she can't._

Because there is no denying she is in here. And if Elena doesn't satisfy her urge to see that Bonnie is still alive and kicking she will do something stupid – like have Matt break down the door.

No, she can't ignore this.

She will be quick, to the point. _I'm fine, Elena Gilbert. Your conscience can be appeased. Now give me my damn day! _

She shuffles on her way to reclaiming her moment. However, the words are on the tip of her tongue as she pulls the door open.

They die before they can even be fully born.

For it is not Elena Gilbert on her doorstep. Nor one of her emissaries.

"Good morning."

_Klaus._

Bonnie knows she has a look of surprise on her face and does her best to rein it in before the damage is done. She does not want Klaus to know just how much he being here throws her off balance. Her fingers dig into the door as she forces herself to remain impassive in the face of his overwhelming presence. "_You._"

He smiles.

Too late – damage done.

"I had it in mind," he begins, his hands clasped in front of him, his tone polite and warm. If it were anyone but him, Bonnie would be impressed by his manners. But it is Klaus and what will come next will shatter that image anyway. "For you to perform a little spell for me."

Her reaction is immediate, visceral. "Go to hell."

He clucks his tongue in a disapproving manner. "Oh, love, let's be rational about this, shall we?"

"Go to hell," she repeats, spitting each word out with individual malice. She hates the way he smiles at her curse. Only those with no conscious would smile warmly in the face of such open hatred.

"Bonnie, you are an intelligent little thing. You know how this will proceed. I will threaten, you will get your back up, I will make good on my threat, you will feel enough guilt to crumble at my feet," Klaus draws, finally unclasping his hands. He raises an arm so a hand can rest on the outer frame. He is testing the boundary of course, showing her how close he can get without actually having to cross that physical barrier. "Let's be smart about it and skip the middle. It will save me time and you heartache."

It takes everything Bonnie has to stand right where she is, right as she is. She has visions of slamming the door in his face, of attempting to forcibly remove him (to no avail she knows but it is the principle of the matter) – but she restrains herself enough to speak. ".hell."

Klaus almost looks disappointed before a grin slowly spreads across his face. "Fine, I much prefer this way to be truthful. I just wanted to save you a little pain. I understand you have been through the ringer as of late." He almost sounds sympathetic – it only increases her desire to make him bleed. He tilts his head now, leaning forward until he can go no further.

_Stay still, Bonnie_, she commands herself.

"Did you know at this very moment that your lumberjack of a stepbrother is going about his business as if Abby Bennett-Wilson is going to walk back through the front door? Chopping wood, putting away groceries for two, staring out the window with a look too pathetic to really be described…" Klaus trails off and she thinks he is looking for a flinch, a hitch in her breath, anything to indicate a reaction to his words. Although her mind is already shouting a protest, she leaves him empty handed. "Caroline, sweet Caroline, is currently brushing her hair, one hundred strokes no doubt. She'll dress herself in sunshine colors before running off to meet the doppelganger. The jock is acting entirely wretched as he eats overcooked oatmeal and contemplates another day all on his own. I am not sure who I will pick first: the extended family you no doubt feel honor bound to protect because of dear mother's departure, the overtly cheerful friend who has done nothing but stand by your side these past few weeks, or the one who has been dragged into all of this through no fault of his own. All are worthy targets but which one will make you bend the fastest."

She can't stop herself now – she trembles at the possibilities.

And he knows he has her.

She should have just answered the damn phone.

**X**

Bonnie stands in the wide open space that is the foyer of the Mikaelson mansion. She has her hands clenched together, her bag tucked in under her arm. If she could pull herself into a ball without looking completely ridiculous she would.

It's a defense mechanism really. Nothing more than the body's automatic reaction to being placed in harm's way.

Beside her, Klaus stands proudly. She knows that he has realized this is her first time in his grand space. She wonders, briefly and without any level of amusement at all, if he is considering giving her the tour before they get down to business.

"You should have been here when it was full of champagne and dancing," Klaus muses and she watches as his eyes fall shut in remembrance.

She bristles where she stands and makes a face. "I burned the invitation."

Klaus' eyes open immediately, a slow sort of grin crossing his face. "Of course you did." His hand falls to her lower back once again (it had started the moment she left the safety of her house), and he ushers her further into the lion's den. "I rather wish you hadn't. It was a momentous night."

"The night your mother tied you all together with the express purpose of destroying you," Bonnie begins and she feels his fingers tense, dig slightly into her skin through her shirt. She resists the urge to smile, to gloat that she has stung him even just a little. She turns on her heel now, pulling away from his touch so she can face him. His features have tightened. "I know why you've brought me here."

"For which I am grateful," he retorts immediately. "It saves me from exposition." He walks ahead now, turns when she does not follow and frowns. "Unless…unless, you _want_ me to spell out what it is I need from you."

She shakes her head.

He offers his hand. "Then let's get on with it."

She does not take it. He has the audacity to look annoyed before letting his hand fall back to his side.

She follows now.

**X**

Bonnie thinks that she would like this room – if she were not forced to be here.

Everything she has seen about this house thus far is overdone, a cry for attention, evidence of an ego desperate for approval from God knows who. But this room seems understated, warm, inviting.

Intimate too.

_Perhaps too intimate,_ she reflects as Klaus drapes himself over the back of the leather seat she has chosen to make hers. She resents his intrusion but manages to display it with only the slightest twitch. Still, she knows to him that it speaks volumes. She refuses to look at his smug face, instead focusing on the flickering of the flame in front of her. She remembers a time in which she channeled fire. She could do it now; she could pull it from the hearth and give it to him.

But in the end, after he healed, nothing would be solved.

"I nearly have all that you need. My mother's grimoire. Candles, herbs – I am still working to procure the most necessary of the elements…"

"Why did you bring me here if you don't have what I really need?" Bonnie spits out before she can stop herself. There is part of her still stuck in her home, longing for her bed, instead of being in the moment as she should. She chides herself for letting that part take control momentarily.

"Because, dear Bonnie," he hisses, his voice just inches from her ear now. She flinches, digs her fingers into her kneecaps and forces herself to stay still as he continues. "This spell is complex, even for someone as clever as you. You will need to study it. I cannot have you misquoting it now can I?" He pulls back just a little. "I will return with what you need. Until then, make yourself comfortable. If you are hungry, thirsty, you will be provided for. Sweetheart?"

As if on cue, a girl, maybe a year old than herself, appears in the doorway. She is holding a glass of clear liquid, water, which she hurries to bring to Bonnie. Her arm is outstretched and Bonnie soon realizes it will remain so until she takes the offering. She reaches forward and pulls the glass free.

_Human_.

This girl is human.

Bonnie had purposely brushed her fingers over that of the docile servant, expecting the cold shock of a hybrid and getting instead the warm tingle that is uniquely human. Her eyes widen a little before she can stop herself.

Human.

Human like her.

"I can see your mind working, love," Klaus says with a slight chuckle. "Always working, seeking a way around the inevitable. It's an admirable quality, but a complete waste of your time." She watches, now, as he walks past her and stands in front of the girl. "Sweetheart?"

"Yes?" There is a hint of desperation in the girl's reply. Bonnie's heart sinks a little.

"Be a good little thing and put your hand in the fire," he says gently, reaching out and touching the girl's pale cheek for good measure.

"Klaus?" Bonnie begins, throwing the glass down on the nearest available surface. The girl is already moving, her shiny blue eyes fixated on her goal. "Stop it."

She gets it. She has gotten it from the moment the girl looked at him with adoration. She doesn't need this display. She stands now, stepping forward. Klaus' arm shoots out to stop her dead in her tracks. "Klaus, there's no need…"

"Complete and utter obedience," Klaus says as if she hasn't even registered a protest. Like her, his eyes are locked on the girl. "To me. No one else."

"I get it!" Bonnie cries, for the first time, and the full force of her emotion is evident in her voice. She is mere moments away from watching some poor girl who has been compelled within an inch of her life prove a point in the name of her. It will be on her head – the girl's pain. She can't bring herself to hold back and just let it happen. "Klaus, stop her."

He glances down at her.

"Klaus!"

There is a triumph evident on his face but thankfully she isn't subjected to it for too long. He turns his head away just as the girl leans over. "Sweetheart?"

The girl still has her hand extended toward the flame as she looks back toward the thing that controls her – Bonnie knows the skin is reddened from its close proximity to the heat. She grinds her teeth together, wanting nothing more to reach forward and jerk the girl back herself.

"Disregard what I just said. It was a silly notion," he tells her with a warm smile.

"Of course." She smiles, drops her hand and then steps away from the fire.

"Run along."

When it is just the two of them left in the room, Klaus turns to face her, any traces of the warmth he had given his little minion gone. "That was particularly foolish of you, Bonnie. You should know better than to assume I would have someone in my employ that was not obedient to me."

Bonnie raises an eyebrow.

Klaus chuckles immediately. "Ah yes. Well, if you truly think about it, love, you are obedient. I have to force your hand but you listen in the end."

There is no arguing with him.

She retreats to her seat. He heads for the doorway. Before he leaves, he glances over his shoulder and she ensures that she lifts her chin, maintains eyes contact.

He smiles – clearly an act of gloating.

She comes close, only pulling herself back in the last second, to throwing the glass of water at his retreating form.


	3. War Tactics

**Chapter Two **

**Author's Note: Once again, I am so grateful to all of you who take the time to read my story and then let me know what you think. I am having a blast writing this. This chapter focuses heavy on the events of 3x18 so a lot of the dialogue is borrowed from the show. However, I have added Bonnie's thought process! **

Of course she spends her time devising a way out.

Bonnie tests her boundaries, seeing how far she can go before she is approached by one of those _helpful _little servants of his. She soon discovers she has effectively been pinned to the very room he has placed her in. The offers of food and drink are nothing more than thinly veiled reminders that the humans in Klaus' employ have one true purpose

And she can't bring herself to hurt them – it's not their fault their free will has been tampered with.

She settles back on her chair, staring straight ahead. If she can't leave, perhaps she can bring others to her. The easiest way, of course, would be by use of her cell phone but he had confiscated her bag and its contents upon her arrival. Still, she is not entirely down for the count yet. There are other methods – she has in the past called out through magic. It had been taxing then.

But she is stronger now.

She lets her eyes fall shut, her mind's eye already creating a picture of just who she'd reach out to. Caroline. Dependable, fiercely protective Caroline. Caroline will round up the others – fair enough, as long as Bonnie can leave this place. She will deal with the fact that she loathes the very sight of half of her rescuers after she is back in the safety of her own home.

"Tick tock, I should hear chanting by now."

Bonnie starts, her eyes flying open. She had been so engrossed in her formulating her own rescue that she did not realize Klaus had returned. Her eyes move to the grimoire, thankfully open to the correct page. She has given it no more than a passing glance since he had first left. She knows better than to let him in on that particular truth. "I am still studying the unlinking spell," she begins with just the right amount of bite in her voice. Let him think she has whittled away the afternoon but pouring over Latin. "It's not that easy. Especially under duress."

She had not meant to add the final little quip but with her temper curling at the edges she can't seem to help herself. She feels the full of effect of her mistake when he leans in.

"You've been warned," he reminds her. The girl, the poor helpless girl who Bonnie has not seen since the moment Klaus nearly set her on fire. She is glad that her back is to him so he cannot see the momentary flash of despair over how close she had come to causing someone unnecessary pain. "If you are trying to find a way to send for help I will kill anyone who comes to your rescue."

She wonders – if he really means it.

For her goal had been Caroline. Surely he wouldn't _kill_ Caroline, not with the amorous advances he has shown towards her over the past few weeks (if they are to be believed, but she does not trust even the slightest thing he says or does).

She stands now, eager to get away from his presence nearly breathing down her next. "This is the spell," she counters in defense. It is not as if she flipped through his mother's grimoire looking for a line of attack.

No, she has just pulled it from her own memory.

"I just don't know if I'm strong enough," she finishes. And it's not a lie, not really. Her body is a conduit for magic; she has grown stronger since the days of floating feathers – but she is still a neophyte in so many ways. She isn't entirely sure she'll be able to channel enough power to pull apart five very old, very unnatural beings.

Clearly he is not content to let her retreat. He follows her, not even batting an eye at her claim. "Then you should have a lot more faith in yourself, Bonnie," he tells her. She can't stop from furrowing her brows together for the split second it takes for the words to fully register. He is about pay her compliment, lay it on thick and pretend he actually cares. "Your energy helped my mother link us. Honestly, I think _someone_ isn't trying very hard."

Of course she isn't.

She is trying harder to get the hell out of there.

Still, her eyes narrow on reflex. She has to bite back the urge to tell him to go to hell and rewards her self-control by standing a little taller.

She wonders if he can read her mind, for seconds after her little confidence boost, he is sucking in a breath, and reaching into his jacket pocket. "Very well." It is like she is momentarily forgotten as he presses his phone to his ear and smiles like he is about to have a conversation with an old friend about pleasant things.

Only Bonnie knows better. A knot already curls in her stomach as she watches him out of the corner of her eye.

She is about to get another demonstration.

Best to brace herself.

"Kol!"

She nearly bulks right then and there. _Kol_. She hasn't had the pleasure but she has heard enough – a dangerous little psychopath who delights in causing others pain. The fact that he has an active role in all this only serves to tighten the knot.

"How is the weather up there in Mile High City?"

It takes a moment for it to fully digest. She has always prided herself on being quick on the draw but in this instance her comprehension runs a bit slower and then hits her as effectively as a slap to the face.

_Jeremy._

"And how's our friend?"

She wonders if some of the color drains from her face. He is watching her now, analyzing her for the slightest reaction. She doesn't have to crumble to know that he understands he has won. So in the interest of self-pride she stands just as she is.

"May I see him?" Klaus inquires and there is a smile playing at the corner of his face. Her fingers itch to remove it. He is never one to hide his pleasure in victory.

The following minutes will be unnecessary. She has already resigned herself to the inevitable. He pushes forth with the charade of course, wanting to grind it in and make her sorely regret for ever considering anything other than what he has asked. She goes absolutely still when he invades her personal space, tilts his head so his breath plays against her ear. She cannot focus on him because if she does she will focus on the fact that she wants nothing more than to rip him to pieces. And if she focuses on that she might damn well try.

So she focuses on Jeremy instead.

"There's Jeremy. Playing with fetch with his new puppy." She can see that. Even on the tiny screen she can see the relaxed stance, the wide smile – he is happy. And safe. Away from everything just as he should be. She can't help but feel it is her fault he is on the edge of being pulled right back in. If she had known that he would go beyond the circle he had already mentioned, that he would choose that particular area to hit her in, she would never have spent the afternoon devising escape routes. "Isn't that the most _adorable_ thing you've ever seen?"

She tastes blood now and for the first time realizes she has bitten down on the inside of her cheek. She knows he can smell it but mercifully he chooses not to acknowledge it, instead stepping away to thank his brother. She swallows, the metallic taste filling her mouth, and then turns to face him.

He is regarding her with a rather stoic expression and she is for a brief moment grateful to him. He could have gloated, he could have beaten her down further but instead he returns to the business at hand.

"So, Bonnie, how about that spell?"

**X**

She studies now, working twice as hard to make up for lost time.

He leaves her to it, promising he will return within the hour. The threat that she better be ready or else remains unsaid but hangs in the air. Her initial quick analysis had been spot on – the spell's complex and she will have be focused.

A hard task given that he will no doubt be breathing down her neck.

She commits the words to memory, focuses on drawing her energy forth and readying it for what is about to come. There is power thrumming throughout her, itching to be released. She feels a part of her crumble at the thought of how it will be used.

She should be saving it to kill him instead.

He returns before his pre-set deadline, strolling in at a leisurely pace. He runs his hand across the table as he stalks toward her, his eyes locked on the circle of candles she is setting up. She places the last one to complete the link and looks up at him. "Do you have a match?"

"Really?" He drawls out, making a face.

It is her one act of defiance – she could easily light them, they both know it, but she feels the need to inconvenience him.

Even if it's just a little.

"A match?" She repeats unfazed by his look of disapproval.

Klaus' mouth sets in a firm line. She wonders if he is itching to say something but thinks better of it. She guesses time is a factor because he dutifully walks to an antique desk and pulls out a box of wooden matches. When his hands them to her, his fingers close around her wrist. He doesn't tug her forward, instead letting his touch bite into her skin. She knows better than to try to pull away. He will make something of it.

"I do not have to tell you just how troubling it will be if you try and trick me, little witch," Klaus says, his voice dropping. There is malice there, enough to make her shiver on instinct.

"No, you don't," Bonnie retorts automatically. He smiles before letting go. She watches as he moves away, stopping to rest on the door frame. His hands are clasped in front of him once again and he gives a little nod as if giving her permission to start.

Bonnie takes her time lighting the candles and is blowing out the match when a sound startles her. She knows her body has jerked in reaction, how could it not – someone is in pain. Within these walls, someone has been hurt, no doubt on his orders. The very thought of it raises her hackles and she can't stop herself from flinging the accusatory words at him. "What was that?"

He tilts his head up slightly, as if he is running possibilities through his head. There is a curve at the corner of his lips and she knows he knows_ exactly_ what is going on elsewhere in this house. She bets that he even wishes he could be there to witness it instead being stuck here supervising her. His eyes find her now. "I wouldn't let it bother you, love," he insists, trying to sooth her no doubt the same way one would a frightened child.

How can it not bother her?

The very condescending nature of his words, combined with all he has done to her on this day, has her snap before she can think things through.

"Well it does bother me. _You _bother me."

It is not the worst she can do – she knows that. And the fact that he seems to be mocking her by having the gull to look wounded by her words pushes her to go further.

"The way you use people to get what you want, it's not right," she spits out, knowing she has stated the obvious. But it feels _so good_ to have done so. Holding it in the way she has all day has been difficult and since he had all but handed her the opportunity to let some of it out, she is glad to have taken it.

Even if he will now make her pay for it.

"You're being emotional, Bonnie," he begins, his voice once again soothing. She pulls herself to her full height and prepares for him to manipulate the situation. "I understand that things have been rough for you. You know, with your mother leaving…"

This is the moment, she decides. This is when her desire to burn him from the inside out is at its greatest. His artificial sympathy is too much. She is a raw nerve when it comes to her mother. She hates that she is giving him the satisfaction of knowing that.

"…_again_. It's very sad."

She can feel her power bristle; call out to her to use it against him. A fruitless effort given who he. She forces herself to look away as he pushes off and comes toward her. If she looks at him, she'll do it. She'll drain herself on principle. She'll have nothing left for his spell and someone (Jeremy, Caroline, Matt…) will pay because she let him get to her.

Unfortunately for her he knows how to draw her right back in.

"I can help you find her." He is standing right in front of her now, his head lowered as if they are having an intimate conversation. He demands attention and she cannot stop her eyes from flickering back to him. "If you want. I have people who can find people. I can bring her back to you…" The last sentence is spoken with such conviction that she believes him. Bonnie believes he can drag Abby Bennett-Wilson kicking and screaming to drop her at her feet.

All it will cost her is a spell.

She is too caught up in the thought of seeing her mother again, of what she would say to Abby to make her understand the far reaching consequences of her cowardice, that she doesn't immediately answer.

So he continues. "Or, if you choose, I can just bring parts of her back." He smiles as he speaks and she knows he has reverted back to the tactic that he knows will work.

She will do anything to avoid seeing someone hurt in her name.

Still, she lashes out. Not with power, but with fist, curving her hand toward him, wanting to inflict even just the smallest measure of pain. It is not a well thought move and one that he easily deflects. He has the audacity to continue to look amused by it all as he finally retreats from her personal space. "Isn't it obvious that I am just going to continue to hurt the ones you love until you do the spell…"

It is – and because of that she doesn't bother to confirm his words.

Nor does he wait for her to, instead pushing forth with his return to business as usual. "Now I know it's in the grimoire – and I know it requires the blood of my siblings. So…" He has picked up a small zippered case which he opens to display four vials of blood. The sight of them so carefully placed makes her realize that he has been planning this for days.

She should have seen it coming.

She should have planned for it. An offense. Some sort of counter attack.

Instead she had buried her head in the sand and is paying for it by now having to watch him rhyme off whose blood is where. Her stomach turns a little. Her eyes flit from the vials to him, just in time to see his fangs elongate, his eyes cloud a stark yellow. She sucks in air, tensing on reflex.

He bites down hard on the tender part of his palm and she winces now, watching as the blood pools in his hand. He closes his fingers around the wound, as if to hold the blood there.

For her.

He raises his head, his eyes once against blue. When he speaks, his tone is business like, to the point.

"Where do you want us?"

**X**

When it's all said and done, Bonnie feels used, drained, dirty – like she thought she would.

However, she feels something else, something new in the pit of her stomach.

Panic.

She has done as he desired. There are five pools of blood neatly spread within the circle of candles. She has not looked at them since the moment they started to pull away from another. His goal has been met – the Original siblings are linked no more.

And he has no reason to keep her alive.

She refuses to meet his eyes as he regards her across the candle flame. He had been fixated on the blood the whole time and now that his eyes are back on her, she wants nothing more than to sink into the floor (actually she wants nothing more than to find herself shooting awake in her bed).

"Thank you," he says with such sincerity her eyes can do nothing else but find him. He smiles now and she realizes her eyes have betrayed her. "You really think so little of me. If I had wanted you dead, my fangs would be in your neck already."

She knows he speaks the truth.

But maybe he doesn't want her dead right this instant – maybe he wants her dead in the next five minutes.

"Come," he instructs offering her his hand. Once again she ignores it, giving him wide berth as she leaves the candles, the blood for someone else to take care of. He doesn't seem fazed by her rejection (he has probably expected it). "I will take you home."

She can take a cab.

She can walk.

She can damn well skip home – as long as he is not her escort.

She gathers her things and tries not to tense too much when his hand returns to the small of her back. He guides her along, taking his time almost as if he is about to deliver her to her father's doorstep minutes before her curfew.

She doesn't speak, instead focusing on her goal. The door. The exit. Her freedom.

Rebekah appears, an obstacle in her path.

She nearly screams in frustration. All her emotions are jumbling together inside of her, an eclectic collection of things that don't mix well. She needs to get out of there sooner rather than later.

"Leaving so soon?" Rebekah asks, her tone so overtly chipper that Bonnie nearly cringes.

"Sister, play nice," Klaus warns, stepping closer to her as if he is going to play protector and save her from the big bad Rebekah.

Given her current company, she isn't even sure if she would prefer it to be the other way around.

Rebekah complies with her brother's wishes. "Thank you, Bonnie," she drawls and then smiles in such a way that Bonnie almost cowers into Klaus. Almost but doesn't. "See you in physics class!"

And then she's off, no doubt to mix her nightly activities with something so uniquely teenage girl that Bonnie wonders just what century Rebekah is truly living in.

She is about to step away from Klaus, step closer to the exit when something, _someone_, catches her eye. Her breath catches in her throat as she takes him in.

_Damon_.

**So yes – the next chapter will deal with the Damon incident - and then by mid chapter you'll see why I class this as an AU story – because from there on out, it's all from my head! Thanks so much for reading! **


	4. Drowning on Dry Land

**Part Three – Drowning on Dry Land**

**Author's Note: Once again I thank you so much for all your wonderful feedback! This chapter is once again influenced by the events of 3x18 so some of the dialogue has been borrowed from the scene. However, this chapter marks the beginning of the AU portion of this story. It's a bit dark really – an exploration of feelings. But hang on because I am sure the pair will be back to snarking at one another before long! **

Bonnie blinks.

For a split second she closes her eyes and hopes upon opening them that she will not see Damon Salvatore strung up in the ballroom. It's a trick of the mind, an illusion created by the extreme stress her body is steeped in.

But he is there when her eyes open.

So she is forced to take him in.

She notices the blood first. On the tarp below him, some of it caked there, some of it pooling and glistening in the light. On him, dried as well with no marks to show the damage that has created it. But she knows, from the patterns and lines, just what has happened to Damon.

Her stomach churns.

And she speaks before she can hold it back. "Oh my God."

Beside her, Klaus pipes up immediately. "Yeah, you'll have to excuse the mess. Apparently Damon hurt her feelings." He explains it all as if he is mortified that as her host he has exposed her to some area the cleaning staff has overlooked.

Rebekah.

Rebekah has done this. With her cheery smile and peppy attitude to rival that of Caroline's, she has slashed at Damon until he can barely hold his head up. She has pinned his wrists by animal traps whose teeth gouge into the flesh. Even from here, she can see that he is trying to heal around the intrusions only to for the skin to be ripped open again at the slightest sway of his body.

It all seems so inhuman.

"_Bonnie_…"

It is the first time Damon has acknowledged her presence. She hadn't even been sure he could tell she is here – he seems so far gone. He has said her name so many times since they first met – often in anger, exasperation, mocking amusement.

But this – this is desperation.

Damon _needs _her.

She lurches forward, with no plan in mind, no real solution to the problem presented. He is hurt. She will help.

It's who she is.

"Go on," Klaus instructs. "_Help _him…"

Bonnie's eyes flicker between the monster seemingly giving her permission and the wounded animal trapped and crying out.

If he hadn't spoken, Bonnie would have gone – almost like a reflex. She would have forgotten Klaus, forgotten where she was, forgotten the misdeeds of Damon Salvatore…

Klaus knows this – and he is no doubt delighted in turning it on her.

"Save the man who turned your mother into a vampire."

There it is – the death knell.

Klaus has poked that raw nerve again, right at the most opportune moment. She can't think of anything else but that night, the night she had realized so concretely just where she stood in the whole order of things. The night a woman who had no real reason to be there but for her daughter had her free will taken from her. The night Abby Bennett-Wilson became something she despised.

The night Bonnie's hatred for Damon Salvatore was at its highest.

Those emotions come flooding in, pouring over top of her already overloaded system. She feels consumed by it all, and worries that she will buckle right then and there. She needs an out – and she has a feeling that Klaus will be all too happy to give it to her, because it will be a metaphorical dagger to Damon's side.

Bonnie Bennett, the girl who has saved his life on numerous occasions is leaving him to the mercy of Klaus and his demented sister.

"Just get me out of here," she says, surprised that she is able to keep the emotions from spilling out as she speaks.

"Very well." He isn't as proficient as her – she can hear the smugness in his voice (or perhaps he wanted her to hear). He reaches for her, to guide her toward the door. She places one foot in front of another, focusing on the mechanical action of walking instead of the emotions that are threatening her very well being. She dare not look back at Damon, to see how he has reacted to these turn of events, to see _him_, because she knows that will be the catalyst.

And right there in the foyer she will collapse at Klaus' feet.

To his everlasting amusing no doubt.

He opens the door and she gets her first taste of freedom in the form of the cool evening air. "Go on then."

She gives a curious glance, wondering if it is really that simple. She would like to think she knows how he operates at this point – there will be a catch. There is always a catch.

"I would see to it that you arrive safely at your doorstep myself, but I have _matters_ to attend to," Klaus drawls out as he glances over his shoulder, leaving her in no doubt as to just what those matters are – just _who_.

There is the catch.

She is walking out the front door with the knowledge that Damon will not. He is making her an accessory to Damon's downfall. It is painfully obvious that as much as she understands how he works, he understands the same of her. A parting shot of guilt, that's what he is leaving her with.

She takes a breath, holds her tongue, therefore holds her tart goodbye and steps out the door. He wastes no time in shutting it behind her and she stands alone on the front step. It takes her eyes a moment to adjust to the dark. It takes her mind a moment longer to realize that she is, indeed, free.

But at a cost.

The guilt mingles unpleasantly with all the other emotions and she nearly heaves, reaching out to grab purchase on one the stone pillars that frame the doorway. She holds tight for a moment, keeping herself on her feet.

She has to act. She can't stand there and let the guilt eat away at her.

She pushes off, and is reaching into her bag before she can even think it through. She has the phone to her ear a moment later praying that unlike her, Elena isn't screening calls on this day.

"Bonnie!" There is relief evident in her friend's voice. "Where have you been?"

No time.

There is no time to explain herself, to appease Elena's need to hear that she has not been purposely avoiding her (even though she has). Bonnie has to get right to the point. "Klaus has Damon."

A beat of silence and then the confusion sets in.

"Klaus…Klaus should be dead. They should all be dead. We just killed Finn."

Bonnie takes a deep breath, realizing how close they had come to finally ending this once and for all. The Original family and the death and destruction they have caused was moments away from being nothing more than a memory. Something that would take time to heal from - but something benign from then on out.

And she has been the one to stop it, however unwittingly.

She has _saved_ Klaus.

She can't take much more. She feels battered down now, ready for her body to give out. She doesn't understand how she can continue to push forward, put distance between she and the monster she has just saved. "No, Elena." How can she even speak? Explain herself? She marvels at her ability to go on even as she feels herself cracking. "He forced me to do a spell that unlinked all the siblings. He's still alive."

She can hear the sigh, the disappointment evident in Elena's voice as she asks where Damon is. Bonnie wonders if Elena is disappointed in her for her role in all of this. Elena would be free if Bonnie…

But it's not her fault.

It's not her choice.

Bonnie has to tell herself that.

Still, she feels the cracks deepen and knows she is only moments from falling into a million little pieces. She will not make it to her home. She might not even make it off this property. "At Klaus' mansion." A consequence of her impeding breakdown is that she is not able to stop herself and the words coming tumbling out. "It's bad, Elena. He threatened Jeremy. And my mom." She feels the first hitch of her breath.

Just a little longer, Bonnie.

Hold on just a little longer.

(Easier said than done).

Intuitive Elena asks just the right question at just the wrong time. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know…" Bonnie's lip trembles and the tears burn her eyes. She can't continue. She has to fold before it's too late. "I'm sorry. I have to go." She finds herself repeating it as if she needs to justify herself. "I just I have to…I have to go."

She hangs up before Elena can protest.

And then finally, after holding it all in since the moment she woke up, she explodes.

Bonnie stumbles, desperate to find a place to curl up and let it all just come.

The wide open courtyard provides little space for her to burrow into and as a result she finds herself sliding down the side of one of Klaus' expensive little toys. She leans against the vehicle, her head tipped back, her eyes firmly closed and for a moment tries, just tries, to push it all down.

But it is no use.

Once the floodgate has been opened there is no way of stopping the overwhelming tide now is there?

Her chest begins to move rapidly as each individual emotion fights to be free. They all seem to want to come pouring out at once and since she now longer has control she has no choice but to let them.

She lets out a loud sob first; her hands flying to cover her face as if to shield herself from any onlookers (but there are none of course - they are too busy torturing Damon). The tears come next, flowing freely down her cheeks, soaking through her fingers, catching on the cloth of her shirt.

She can feel another choking sob pushing through and she curls her fingers into her mouth as if to silence herself.

But it's not use.

So she buries her head into her lap and just cries.

And cries.

Until she fears she will never stop. She is reminded of when she was a child, when she got sick. She would heave until there was nothing left and then heave some more. Her father would have to kneel down beside her, rub her back and tell her that she had to stop, that it was okay to stop.

But there is no one to do that now.

Her legs are damp; her chest is surging as she struggles to maintain a balance between sobs and breathing. She knows the physical reaction her body is having. She knows it will only get worse if she doesn't do something about it.

So she settles on a game plan - she will bring each emotion out, one by one. She will confront it for what it is...and then she will move on.

Anger comes first - because the white hot flash of rage was the first thing she felt when she knelt down by her mother's prone figure. It hadn't lasted long, but it was there and is still there festering and spreading throughout her mind. She is angry at what was done to Abby. She is angry that she wasn't given the chance to find a solution before it was too late. She is angry because she foolishly believed that Damon and Stefan Salvatore saw her as more than a solution to their every problem. She is angry because her own mother couldn't face her, couldn't accept her help.

Despair follows easily - because it is so intertwined with her anger. For each little thing that made her angry also cut deep into her heart. She is at a loss as to how to deal with the hurt associated with realizing her mother is now something she never wanted to be. Fresh tears come with the thought that although she considered Stefan a friend (she merely tolerated Damon), he clearly did not hold her in the same regard. And there is, of course, a part of her that is still that lost little girl missing her mother.

Guilt comes last - because it is fresh. And because she really rather not think of it at all. She squeezes her eyes shut to avoid it, and her body shudders. She has to - she has to look it in its ugly face. She is guilty, not because she left Damon there - she never truly believed that Klaus would have let her touch him if she had been strong enough to pull herself up from his barb. No, she is guilty because she _wants_ to leave him there. There is a part of her that wants to see him suffer (there is an even darker part of her that wants to be an integral part of it). She has never seen herself as an overly malicious person. Yes, there were times when she let her need for revenge overtake her senses, and yes most of those times have been related to Damon. But in the end, she has never truly wanted to end him - not like she has tonight. And it is eating her up - to think that for the briefest of seconds she entertained those thoughts.

She lifts her head a little, resting her chin on her knees. Her eyes don't seem to want to focus on anything right now. It takes her a moment to notice that she has stopped crying. She has brought the emotions to the forefront - she has examined them.

And now she is numb.

**X**

She loses track of time.

She has no idea how long she has sat there, curled into herself as she is. She has turned to the side a little, her head resting against the hard steel of the driver's side door. Her eyes have fallen closed but she is not sleeping - she is recovering.

Her body is trying to pull itself back together now.

The first thing she truly becomes aware of is the sound of footsteps.

She lifts her head a little, her breath catching in her throat. She can see the sources now.

_Sources_.

Stefan is with Damon, the older brother slumped over the younger. She focuses on the fact that Damon is alive. That like she, he walked out of that house. And she can throw the fact that she had been the one to alert them to the fact that he was there right in the face of her guilt.

Still, she burrows into the car, quiets her breathing and hopes that they are too distracted to notice she is there. Her plan succeeds and she watches the Salvatore brother leave.

She needs to do the same.

Only she can't quite pull herself to her feet yet.

Just a few more minutes.

A few more minutes and she will be strong enough to stand. Strong enough to follow in the footsteps of Damon and Stefan. Strong enough to leave and never ever look back.

Only fate can do a lot with a few more minutes.

**X**

The sound of a door slamming jerks her out of the final stages of her recovery.

Her eyes widen as she turns her head enough to see Klaus storming out of the house at a maddening pace. Even from here she can feel the rage pouring out of him. Her body kick starts the fight or flight processes by doubling her heart beat.

A dead giveaway to a vampire.

She can only hope that like Stefan and Damon, Klaus is too distracted by whatever is going on inside his head that he does not notice her. She has the urge to crawl right under the car, like a frightened cat. She can see his fists clench by his side, he is breathing heavily. For a moment he stands there, in the middle of his courtyard.

And then he tips his head back and lets out an inhuman cry.

Of anger.

Of despair.

She bets there is guilt there somewhere.

A second sound, much more calm, a female voice fills her ears. "Nik?"

There is a slight pause.

"Go back inside Rebekah," he instructs.

"Nik, let me…"

"NOW!"

There is an air of finality that has even herself wishing she could scramble from her current hiding place for a new one inside the monstrosity he calls a home. She squeezes her eyes shut, concentrates solely on hearing – on trying to pick up any subtle shift of his feet. Any hint that he is closing in.

Vampires, of course, are whisper quiet when they want to be.

There is a stillness in the air that chills her. She raises her head now, wishes she didn't have to open her eyes but knowing what she will find when she does.

He stands inches away, looking down at her. She finally takes a breath (she hadn't realized she had been holding it in the first place) and tries to read his face. What she sees there is barely restrained. His eyes almost shimmer. His brows are screwed together and his lips are pressed so thin they are almost white.

He is hurting.

"They killed my brother," he says simply.

She barely has time to react, barely has time to pull herself to her feet before he is pressing her against the vehicle. "They _killed _my _brother_!" He cries, and she winces as his emotions overpower her. He slams the metal next to her arm and she doesn't need to look to know it is dented in. He repeats the action and she sucks in air.

"Are you just going to stand there? And say nothing?" He spits out, his breath hot on her face. "They killed him. Without warning or provocation. They murdered my brother. Because of me!"

There it is – the guilt.

She meets his eyes for the first time and she feels like he is not even truly seeing her. He is lost in whatever has come over him. She is afraid that if she doesn't think quick, act even quicker, that she will be a conduit for his pain.

So she slips past him.

Or tries to.

He swings around, his arms banding across her stomach tightly. He lifts her off his feet. She doesn't have it in her to play calm, to feign indifference in hopes that he will lose interest. No, she is open and raw from everything.

So she fights.

She kicks, and claws.

She screams.

Her powers are erratic but they still lash out at him.

In the end, she is not strong enough. Her valiant efforts are for none because he easily drags her across the courtyard, back towards her prison.

Her freedom has been temporary.

By the time she is back under the artificial lights of the Mikaelson home, most of the fight is out of her. However, she is still jerking her body in hopes to be away from him.

"Nik?"

Bonnie's eyes find Rebekah standing at the foot of the staircase regarding the pair with frank curiosity.

"What on earth are you doing?" The blonde vampire takes the last stair and walks toward them slowly, her lips curling into something resembling a smile. "Are we going to drain the little witch?"

Klaus stills. Stills her. For a moment there is silence and Bonnie thinks for the first time that he truly understands what he has just done.

However, he recovers quickly.

"Rebekah, she is my plaything, not yours." As if to drive his point home, Klaus tightens his grip, pulls her into him.

From the look on his sister's face, Bonnie gets the feeling that Klaus is throwing something back at her. However, she doesn't have the time to focus on that – not when her body is filling with overwhelming dread.

Unsure of how to cope with it, she lashes out again.

Fruitlessly of course.


	5. The Absence of Manners

**Chapter Four – The Absence of Manners **

**Author's Note: So there are two ways you can look at this – it's either a week late, or a day early. Sorry for the longer wait. Anyone who follows me on tumblr knows that 3.20 was a huge kick to my muse (Alaric Saltzman is a favorite of mine) but thankfully I have bounced back. I am actually grateful that the season finale is this week because I am a bit tired of the roller coaster stuff this show feels the need to do. I can't wait to write in peace! **

**So you're getting this 'a day early' and then back to our regular Monday posts! **

Klaus drags her to that godforsaken room and tosses her unceremoniously in that godforsaken chair.

She immediately straightens herself, her eyes flickering from him to the remnants of her earlier handiwork. Most of the candles have burned themselves out but a lone one is still flickering proudly.

She can see the blood too.

No one has touched the blood.

Five neat little piles coagulating at room temperature.

He is pacing in front of her, barely regarding the fact that she is in the room with him. She knows he is still trying to pull back the emotions that consumed him moments ago. Having just gone through the process herself, she knows it is not easy.

She feels as if she is in a holding pattern – waiting until Klaus comes at her with some caustic remark, waiting for him to sneer and be smug about this latest development, waiting for the Klaus she knows to make an appearance.

She has precious few options.

She can run but she won't get but two feet before he is on her. She can use magic, but it is a temporary solution that will leave her drained (and she isn't even taking into account that her own psyche is fragile and her ability to wield what powers she has is compromised at the moment).

She can only wait – and then hope that cooler heads will prevail.

As she sees it, there is little to gain by holding her here and even less by killing her. The mighty Klaus, with his carefully thought out game plans, has made a mistake. If he had been thinking straight, he would have left her there, curled up beside the car (or he would have thrown her off the property). He would have never even considered forcing her back to this very spot.

For what purpose does it serve?

She has done him the ultimate favor – she has spared from the same fate that has befallen his brother. She has little more to offer him at this point (well, she knows there are some things she can offer him – including an outlet for his current frustrations but she cannot let herself truly entertain that because she is so close to just dissolving right back to where she was ten minutes ago).

Finally he seemingly snaps back to the now. He stops, almost mid stride and looks down at her. She has her gaze pinned to the tiny flickering flame of the candle. For a moment they stay as they are, almost frozen and then he is kneeling down in front of her, demanding her attention.

She looks him in his eyes, leans forward a little even as his hands move to the arms of the chair effectively pinning her in. It is hard to be calm – she realizes she can't, not tonight, not yet. So she has to fake it and hope that he doesn't see right through her. Given his mood, he will poke at her wounds until she is screaming on the floor. "I can walk out the door," she tells him with only the slightest hitch in her breath. "I can walk out the door and never come back."

It scares her when he smiles.

Enough so that she cannot stop herself from shrinking back into the chair. He follows, maintaining the same distance between them that she has set a moment earlier.

"You must be thirsty. I understand that when the human body undergoes an emotional trauma it is left drained. I will see to it that you are given something before I turn in for the night." He says it with such an air of finality that she realizes he has seen through her, he is picking at her fragility.

There hasn't been enough time to recover – she can't be as strong as she needs to be right now.

"You can't serious…" She rails against him now, with her voice – and her hands. They push on his shoulders, trying to get his smug face out of her line of vision. He doesn't budge so she rears back and brings a fist crashing against his cheek.

She needs to remember that she is not the only one hanging on by a thread.

He reacts with expert precision, reaching out to wrap his hand around her wrist. Tightly. Perhaps a little too tightly. He rights himself, pulling her to her feet. She stumbles into him and he is quick to band arm around the small of her back to keep her there. She is seething, her chest rising and falling against his at a rapid rate. She can feel her powers swimming under her skin, begging to be released. She has enough logic left in her to know that if she chooses to use it against him she will pay dearly for it.

But still, it has to be expelled before it eats away at her remaining logic.

She closes her eyes and lets it go, lets it take the easiest form she knows. The candles flare to life, the fire in the hearth climbs significantly higher casting an orange hue over the pair before it dies down suddenly. She feels less like a ticking time bomb now but she knows there is the potential for it to build again, at a faster rate, to a higher degree if he insists on playing this game.

He raises an eyebrow. "And you needed a match?"

Bonnie bristles against him but he holds tight, and has the audacity to look amused by all this.

_By his mistake_.

"You can't keep me here!" There is a shrillness to her voice that she hasn't meant to put there (in truth she hasn't meant to do so much on this night but it is not as if she can pretend she has complete control over her actions at the moment).

He furrows a brow at her outburst and then finally releases her. He steps back, giving her the illusion that she is free from his grasp but she sees right through it.

"I can," he states simply. "I am."

The amount of willpower it takes not to scream at his simple acknowledgement of his new path is shockingly high.

She should have realized.

After all she knows.

Klaus is not one to admit his mistakes.

**X**

She spends the night in that room.

At first she stays on the chair, perhaps embracing the familiar. Klaus has left her moments after he made it clear that she is not going anywhere. True to his word, a glass of water appears in the hands of that poor girl who is becoming a face she is sure she will never forget.

On principle, she does not drink it – even though she is aching for it.

She is not going to make herself comfortable here.

Still, it is hard to fight exhaustion, especially when her body as all but drained itself.

She shifts on the chair.

Tucks her legs underneath herself.

Lays her head on the arm.

Curls into a ball.

Nothing really works.

Finally, she concedes a little ground to him, stands and walks as far as the sofa. She all but collapses on it, turning on her side to watch the dying fire. She should be doing something. She should be looking for a way out.

She should…

…drink the goddamn water.

But she does none of those things.

Instead she sleeps.

**X**

It's early yet when her eyes open. The grey light of dawn is just starting to filter into the room as she sits up, ever mindful of just where she is. There is no moment of heart stopping confusion. She wagers even as she slept, her brain was always aware of what was going on.

Her feet hit the ground and she sees it.

The water – still there taunting her.

Her mouth is dry; there is a dull throb in her head that indicates the onset of dehydration. But still she doesn't touch it – she will damn well have a glass of water when she gets home.

Bonnie is whisper quiet as she picks her way out of the room. The rest of the house clearly has the same idea as her because she can't hear a thing no matter how hard she tries. She strains to pick up any sign of life (but then again, most of the inhabitants of this house are probably not technically living now are they?).

She has a goal in mind. If she can, she is going to walk right out the front door.

And then she will run.

Up until now, she has all but pressed herself against walls, tried to remain hidden in shadows. But now, now, she is nearing the foyer where she will be in one big open space. Nowhere to hide - nowhere to go.

But out.

She needs to get out.

Bonnie takes a deep breath, and steps onto intricate marble, her eyes immediately darting around the expansive room. _Where is...anyone?_ Bonnie does not like that she has not even come across one of Klaus' little playthings. It sets her on edge, makes her hyper aware. She needs to keep herself grounded.

Keep focused on her goal.

She moves with speed toward the front door, has her hand around the knob when she hears a voice.

"Come now, Bonnie, did you really think that it would be that easy?"

She turns and sees Rebekah standing on the bottom step, dressed for the day in pastel colors. The state of her hair and makeup tells Bonnie that the blonde Original has been up for a while now - and has tracked her from the moment she sat up on the couch.

Rebekah probably has had a good laugh as she put on mascara.

"No," Bonnie says truthfully, as her hand falls away. But she had to try. Surely Rebekah can understand that.

"You're a smart little thing," Rebekah drawls as she finally takes the last step. She has her fingers still curled on the banister and she looks every bit as lethal as a coiled snake. Bonnie wonders how her fellow classmates at school don't see it. "So be a good girl and go back to your room."

Her _room_?

There is no way she is staying in this place long enough to make that _her_ room. Without a thought given to consequence, Bonnie shakes her head.

Rebekah groans and then with a flash, she is front of Bonnie, her perfectly made up face curled into a hiss. Bonnie tries to sidestep the inevitable but finds herself pinned to the door anyway. Automatically, her hands come up to curl around Rebekah's arm.

"Re-_bekah!_"

Bonnie's eyes tear from her immediate threat on reflex, moving to regard the more sinister one standing at the top of the stairway. Like her, Klaus still wears same clothes from the night before. He places a foot on the first step, his brows furrowed together. "Is that any way to treat _my_ guest?"

This is the second time that Klaus has placed ownership on her and Bonnie is not sure that she likes it - even if it means that it will free her from the choking grasp of his demented sister.

"_Your _guest was trying to leave without at least thanking you first," Rebekah points out with a shrug. She then releases her grip on Bonnie's throat and steps to the side. "You know how I feel about manners."

"I do – so forgive me when I point out that choking someone is not the politest way to achieve results," Klaus says as he continues his path down the stairs. Bonnie is pulling in air now, trying to right her senses. She is keenly aware that the two siblings are playing with one another and she doesn't like the thought of being the toy in the middle.

He takes his time to reach them, first letting his eyes linger on her (she forces herself to maintain eye contact) before glancing at his sister. "Run along now, Rebekah. We wouldn't want you tardy for school."

Rebekah makes a face but seemingly knows when she has no more ground to stand on. She smiles now, it twisting her face into something perhaps serene but to Bonnie it is ominous. "Don't worry, Bonnie dear, I'll be sure to get your homework."

With that, Rebekah reaches past her, opens the door so Bonnie gets that brief glimpse of freedom and then leaves her to him. Bonnie is slow to raise her eyes from the door to him. He hasn't moved from where he had come to stop in the foyer and he is still watching her intently. She waits, wondering just what he will say, just what he will _do, _in light of her ill-conceived exit strategy.

He folds his hands behind his back, tilting his head to the side. "You look famished, love."

Apparently he will do breakfast.

**X**

It is a normal breakfast (well a normal breakfast for someone of his social standing she supposes).

He takes a seat at the head the table and she claims the one to his left. There has been preparation for this event - it has been not a spur of the moment decision. Tableware is already laid out. There is a selection of jams and jellies to go with the bread piled high on a plate in the middle. In front of him sits a tall glass of orange juice.

In front of her sits a very familiar glass of water.

She does not to react to it, even though inwardly she is fuming at what the glass has come to symbolize. She should have expected it (actually if she really thought about it - she had been expecting their breakfast to run more along the lines of her being forced to watch him feed off some glazed over helpless person - the fact that he is just taunting her with a glass of water seems almost civilized).

He reaches for a piece of toast and she watches him as he begins to slather jam in a thick layer. She must have an incredulous look on her face, like she is watching a side show at a carnival, for he pauses with the knife in mid stroke. "I am beginning to believe my sister was correct - and that your manners leave something to be desired."

Bonnie furrows her brows and this time does not even attempt to hold her tongue. She is tired, she is hungry, she is _thirsty. _"Are we seriously going to discuss manners when you are holding me prisoner?"

He scoffs immediately and she knows he had been waiting on this answer. "Bonnie, love, a little civility can be found in all situations if you only take the time to try. I know this is not ideal, but it is what it is. The sooner you embrace it - the easier things shall be."

"Embrace it?" She explodes, shooting out of the chair at a such a rapid pace even the docile girl standing ramrod straight flinches. "You threatened people I care about, used me for my magic, and are now forcing me to stay here. Tell me, Klaus..." His name is spit out like the poison it is. "...just what is it I am supposed to embrace!"

She watches him just as closely as he watches her, trying to pinpoint any emotional reactions. There is a slight clench of his jaw and for a moment she thinks she sees something in his eyes. But then it is gone (and she questions if it was ever really there). He calmly sets the toast on his plate and looks up at her. "I could have killed you," he begins. "Last night, after you finished the spell. I could have drained you dry and left you on the floor of that room for someone to clean up at their earliest convenience. Or worse - I could have strung you up like Damon Salvatore, bled you out slowly, made a game of it..."

Bonnie opens her mouth to shoot back but he holds a hand up in such a manner that she falls silent instead.

"Outside, that's where it would have been most likely to happen. I wasn't in control. I could have ripped you to shreds, Bonnie. And not even realized it until it was far too late." He has his elbows on the table (and he is cursing _her_ for her manners), his fingers laced together and his head propped on them. "If you think of it - you took a chance choosing that particular location to have your little tantrum..." That's low and he knows it. "...so really you should not be surprised that you find yourself here. Embrace the fact that you are alive, love, because it so easily could have been the other way around."

Bonnie can't find the counter argument to that at the moment. She knows it is there, festering inside of her but she can't pull it out. Her wits have been dulled by lack of food and water making it impossible to keep up with him. She hates that. She hates that he has silenced her so effectively. She needs to be able to fight until the bitter end but if she can't even make it out of round one she is going to be down for the count far too soon.

She realizes now that he is right. She should embrace her situation. She should take what he has to offer because she is going to need it if she is ever going to get out of here intact. She doesn't have to fight him at every corner to prove that she is going to win. What was it that Alaric Saltzman had talked about when studying conflict (an ever present theme it seemed) - ah yes...

You can concede a battle, and still win the war - sometimes it is necessary for the enemy to think they have won, so you can catch them off guard when the time comes.

With that in mind, she retakes her seat, and reaches for a slice of bread. She chooses the jelly, spreads it lightly and is eyeing the glass of water. Her mouth is so dry it seemingly takes forever just to swallow one bite.

Klaus has taken to glancing at her, sipping his orange juice, fiddling with his fork (he really doesn't realize how sorely his own manners are lacking does he?). Finally she can tell he can take it no longer. He leans forward, and she stops her progress. She looks at him expectantly.

"Surely, you are thirsty," Klaus reasons.

She realizes he has put as much stock into a simple glass of water as she has. Given his nature, it doesn't surprise her. However, it does surprise her that he has revealed it. He has given just a little room for her to play.

Bonnie reaches for the glass, only to set it aside. It is hard to do - there is condensation built on the outside and it is cool to the touch. She can only imagine what the water would feel like sliding down her throat.

"I prefer milk in the morning."

She figures that is how it is for them - concede one battle, declare another.


	6. The Value of Good Interior Design

**Author's Note: Holy cow. So I sat down and I opened up Uneven Ground thinking I might get a sentence or two out. And then BAM – this entire chapter came flying out. I know you all have been waiting for it so here you go. Thank you thank you thank you thank you for all your patience. I hope that the wait was worth it. I can't promise you regular updates because of work but I can say that the next few chapters are very firm in my mind so it shouldn't be another 3 months before I update again! I plan to work on it later on this week. Thanks again, your continued support means so much to me! **

**Chapter Five – The Value of a Good Interior Design**

After what could pass for breakfast, Bonnie thinks they will get down to business.

She doesn't expect him to reveal the entire master plan he obviously threw together at the last minute, but she thinks he will at least give her _some_ reason as to why he has decided to keep her around. She has many possibilities running through her mind - perhaps he wants a witch at his beck and call, perhaps he wants to trade her to her friends, perhaps he wants to torture...

Well...Bonnie would rather he just tell her instead of letting her mind run wild.

Instead, he takes her on a tour of the house, walking at a leisurely pace through endless rooms, commenting with enthusiasm on design concepts and why he chose each particular piece of furniture. With each room, she finds her frustration building and much like the night before her powers are keenly in tune with her mood.

_Great, she is going to explode again._

All because he wants to talk about crown moulding.

She manages to hold off until they are back in _her_ room. He is speaking slowly now, extolling the virtues of Queen Victoria furniture when she feels that last thin thread snap. She still has presence of mind not to level her power in his direction but she cannot say the same for the rather large vase sitting on the 'Chippendale' table next to him.

The vase explodes into a thousand little pieces, as if propelled by some force within. The shards fly through the air with some falling at her feet. Most land around him. He has stood still, as if frozen, waiting for the remnants of magic to reverberate around the room. Her body is seething from once again losing control, but she feels better - as if she has leveled off.

If he is smart he will not continue to provoke.

Unless it is because he _is_ smart that he continues to do so.

If he keeps this up she will short circuit in no time. Maybe that is what he wants - her powerless and cowering in a corner. How easy she will be to manage if she exerts herself to the point that she cannot even so much as call forth the tiny flame of a candle. She will not let him do that to her - no matter the level of self-control she will have to employ to make it so. She is capable of rising above his subtle and not so subtle jabs - if he wants to discuss at length why he chose egg shell over cream for the base color of his bedroom then she will sit there and listen.

Perhaps ask why he had not chosen lace instead.

She lifts her chin a little as he brushes bits of ceramic off his shoulders. As he turns his head to look at her, she can see that a small piece has embedded itself in his cheek. Her newly found path falters just little as she watches as he digs his finger into the open wound to pop the debris out. It falls to the floor and the wound is quick to heal. She feels an odd mixture of relief and disappointment; relief because there is no lasting damage from her loss of control but disappointment that she has not left a mark on him that would serve as proof that she had hurt him, even just a little.

"Not my favorite," he drawls as he wipes the traces of blood from his cheek. "But an antique none the less."

Bonnie makes no comment as to her guilt in destroying it, instead merely shrugging. "The pattern didn't go with the overall theme of the room."

Klaus grins.

**X**

He leaves her in the capable hands of his mindless minions (in her room of course).

She sits. Tries to be calculating and stews instead.

Still not the slightest clue as to what he plans to do with her.

She should have known really. He is a far cry from a Bond villain, giving away his entire plan as he twirls his mustache and laughs manically. Klaus will wait until the last moment to let her in on it no doubt. If it gets to that point, she knows it will be too late for her. She has visions of him telling her he plans for her to die just seconds before the throws her into the face of an oncoming train.

Dramatic, perhaps – but accurate.

So really her only option is to be proactive.

Instead of sitting around and trying to weave through the complex mind of a man who has fought and won nearly every battle he has engaged in, she needs to think simple. Think exit strategy. In the end, this is just a house. Walls and a roof. Wood, stone, brick. Not infallible.

Besides - she is a witch.

Who by all accounts really should be dead by now. The fact that she is still living is a testament to her ability to weasel her way out of certain death. So with that in mind, she will figure something out. Having reset her determination _yet_ again, Bonnie leans back in the chair, lets her body relax. No sense in becoming so tense that she can barely move. She is already thirsty not to mention hungry but she knows better than to ask. Her antics at breakfast have ensured that for now – there will be a price attached.

She lets her eyes roam the room as she contemplates, falling on paintings whose names she cannot remember (obviously she had paid _strict_ attention when he was giving the tour), skipping over expensive furniture, before they come to land on the table where the ritual is still laid out as if to taunt her. For a moment she scoffs at the mess.

But then she sits up straight in her chair.

The _mess_ may just be a blessing in disguise.

The candles – well, _candle_ really. Only one has retained enough wax to be of any use.

She was wonders if that is an oversight on his part or if he truly doesn't understand just what some wax and string can mean to someone like her. She takes a deep breath, feeling something…excitement. Genuine excitement because she has an idea that just might hold water.

She stands slowly, trying to keep her feelings inward. The last thing she needs is for someone to find her dancing with glee around a fat candle that has already lost half its shelf life. He or she would call Klaus immediately and it would be over before it had begun. She crosses her arms over her body, mindful that she is being watched. Although she is trying to be inconspicuous, the girl (_the_ girl of course – she has come to be a symbol, a reminder of what will happen if Bonnie steps out of line) is just outside the doorway, no doubt having been told not to move from that very spot unless Bonnie does something worthy of tattle-taling.

Let's hope there is nothing suspicious about admiring her own handiwork.

Bonnie comes to stand by the table, glancing down at what remains. Her stomach clenches a little at the sight of the blood, dried and stuck fast to the table. Likewise, most of the wax has spread out over the surface. She doesn't think the piece of furniture can be saved.

"I hope it's another antique," she mutters before she can stop herself.

Apparently speaking is tattletale worthy. For the sentence doesn't even get out of her mouth and the girl is in the room. "What did you say, Miss Bennett?"

She turns her head to look over her shoulder, her eyebrow rising slightly. _Miss Bennett? _He instructed them to call her Miss Bennett? Oh he is having _far_ too much fun. She wants in on the action (actually she wants out of course, but if she can do so in a way that metaphorically spits in his face, she is all for it).

"I was just thinking that this needs to be cleaned up," Bonnie says, realizing it is time for a bit of thinking on her feet. She glances down at the makeshift altar once more. "I mean, it's a biohazard really. To be stuck in this room with all this dried blood."

The girl makes a face. "I suppose…it would be unpleasant."

Bonnie nods, glad to see that there is some ability for independent thought. Then she realizes that Klaus doesn't have the time to fully program himself a robot. The fact that this is the only reason why this girl has any sort of lucid ability saddens her. "Uh, yeah, it is. And seeing is how I am going to be here for a while…" She is of course smart enough not to suggest anything otherwise. Let the girl keep on thinking that she is not going to put up a fuss. "…I would be much happier if it was cleaned up. You can just get me a cloth and I'll…"

"I can do it," the girl says and there is a sort of sharpness to her tone that tells Bonnie cleaning up after her is one of many minion duties.

"I know you can," Bonnie assures her. "And I am so grateful. At least, well, at least let me help you." She is still thinking on her feet when she adds. "To help cure _my_ boredom." The girl takes a second but nods. _There_, Bonnie has learned something new. This girl is hardwired to keep Bonnie as comfortable as possible without springing her loose. She doubts Klaus has meant for her to keep her entertained but that is an issue with his instruction – wording means everything. She gives herself a mental pat on the back for finding a loop hole as she waits.

The girl returns with a few clothes, some soapy water, a cleaning product or two. None of it will save this table but that is not her goal. In fact, Bonnie reaches for her goal first, closing her hand around the candle and pulling it free of the wax bed in which it rests. She is careful not to covet it for even a moment; she merely sets it aside on the fire mantle place to hopefully be forgotten.

By the girl.

Not her.

She turns back to the table to find the girl already examining what is left. "Uh, this…"

"…looks impossible I know," Bonnie finishes trying to keep her voice full of camaraderie. Keep her thinking that they are on the same side – which unfortunately means playing on 'Team Klaus' for the time being. "But my Grams told me that a little time and a lot of elbow grease can work miracles."

The girl nods, almost tentatively and then they put that to the test.

Bonnie dips her cloth into the hot water and immediately covers one of the five blood pools. For a moment she leaves it there, wondering just who it is she is cleaning up after. Rebekah…Finn; the one who was no longer with them…_Klaus_. She is surprised at the jolt she feels when she extends her hand across the table to pull back on the cloth. She knows the magic she used to complete the spell was powerful, more powerful than anything she has ever done really, but she hasn't realized until just now how much of a scar it has left. Even if the table could be saved, it will never be the same. She almost wishes it could now – so that every time Klaus brushes against it he would get a nice little jolt that would remind him of why he is still here.

He is still here because of her.

She saved his life, dammit (not by design of course), and this how he repays her.

By making her a prisoner.

In this room (she thinks that if she can pull this off, she will leave this room in tatters as a form of protest).

She channels that frustration into scrubbing at the blood pool until she is sure she has nothing between the table and the cloth. Pulling it back, she surveys the smooth surface. Just as she suspected. The table is an antique, therefore not covered in the sort of chemical finishes that exist now. The blood has seeped into the cracks and pores of the wood, ensuring that there will also be visible proof of its use. Bonnie glances over at the girl. "My Grams was also big on the saying that not everything can be saved."

"Your Grams sounds like a real smart woman," the girl quips as she lets her rag fall into the bucket.

It hits Bonnie then – what would Shelia Bennett make of all this? Surely she would be disappointed that Bonnie has been pulled into the world of the supernatural so deeply, but she has a feeling her Grams is keeping an eye on her this very moment. Perhaps acting as her personal cheerleader. With that in mind, Bonnie is more determined than ever to try something, _try_ anything.

The passive routine worked the previous night because there had been no control left in Klaus, but he seems his old self today – so, no more lying down and just taking it.

"I could…well, maybe the table can be moved," the girl suggests as she gathers what she is has brought. Bonnie nods, her eyes flickering to the candle. It still sets on the mantle. Bonnie doesn't even think the girl has seen it.

She is exiting the room, no doubt to get rid of her of their failed attempt at cleaning and then go back to her perch. Bonnie still has the cloth in her hand, stained with the blood of an original. It is automatic to raise her hand to call the girl back so she can take it away as well but at the last moment, Bonnie realizes she shouldn't be so quick to give that up.

Everything has a purpose – hadn't Grams said that often as well?

Still the girl has caught her movement. "Something else?"

Thankfully, Bonnie has tucked her hand behind her by the time they make eye contact. "Just your name." Thinking on her feet again.

"Amelia," she answers.

"Thanks for your help, Amelia. I appreciate it."

_More than you know._

**X**

Both the cloth and candle get tucked into the seams of the couch while Amelia replaces the cleaning supplies. Bonnie can't take the chance that Amelia will find either in her possession. While it might look harmless to her, it would be reported back to her 'boss', who would find it anything but benign.

She concedes that she will have to wait until night when those in his employ seem more lax in their watch of her (if this morning's near escape is any indication).

Which means there is a good chance she will have to come face to face with Klaus again.

_You have plan; a goal, Bonnie. _

_No matter what he says or does, remember that._

He doesn't reappear until late in the afternoon. She is stretched out on the couch her arms under her head. Try as she might to do the opposite, she has been drifting in and out. When he crouches down beside the couch, her eyes are closed. But she can _feel _him there. It is as if her body reacts to him and goes on red alert, jolting her out of her slumber. Her breath catches in her throat to see how close he is, watching her with near rapt attention.

"It's impolite to stare," she finally says, her voice still laced with sleep.

He doesn't miss a beat. "I am proving to be an inconsiderate host in many respects I see." And then he smiles when she presses her lips together to refrain from shooting back. "I am told that you missed lunch. You must be famished."

She sits up, mindful of her stolen treasure. She is surprised at how paranoid she is that he knows just what she has (but he can't). "Look, Klaus, I am not…"

"There are no strings attached to dinner," he states and she has to give him credit for knowing just where her mind had been headed. "Which is a lovely chicken dish by the way. I am told it is the chef's speciality. I find that most food tastes the same whereas blood…"

"Lead the way," Bonnie says curtly, standing to her feet. To avoid the hearing him speak of the nuisances of tasting each blood type, she even takes the arm that he extends. There is a brief hint of victory on his face – but then again he obviously hasn't picked up on her newfound pattern of conceding where necessary.

They take their places at the table. She even thanks him for holding out the chair. She doesn't deny that she is starving now (not to mention the _thirst_). When the food appears in front of them, she has to stop herself from just digging in because it smells that damn good (then again, a greasy burger from the Grill would be a slice of heaven right now too and she once got food poisoning from one of those things). She forces herself to sit up straight as the production plays out. She is handed a wine glass, the liquid a deep red. Alcohol – that won't help her thirst. Still, she thinks that one sip just to wet her lips won't hurt. That is until she truly realizes what she is holding.

Bonnie sets the glass down, her eyes immediately going to him. "This is blood."

"Is it?" Klaus makes a show of lifting his glass, swirling its contents and inhaling deeply. When he looks back to her, there are dark veins under his eyes (which have taken on a yellowish hue). He grins, his canines obvious. "So it is."

She has to bite the inside of her cheek not to call him on his ridiculous behavior. Instead she watches as he sips it with all the grace of a wine connoisseur. Her appetite, while still there, is greatly diminished. "I can't drink this. Make them take it back."

He looks around and so does she. The room is empty save for the two of them. "Oh dear, it seems they have scampered off. Ah well, enjoy," he drawls. Without another word as to why he can't simply call them back, he begins to eat. She takes a moment to just sit there, still processing what this entire exchange means, and just what she can take away from it.

In an odd way, she feels that she should be flattered that he went to all this trouble to stage this idiotic moment. He would have had to lay out meticulous instruction to make it work just so – and that tells her something: she has gotten to him. He felt the need to push back. Although he may seem calm, underneath there is something that she has done that has directed his actions.

Now she has to work overtime not to smile, not to gloat.

She, little Bonnie Bennett, so often overlooked, has wormed her way under the skin of the big bad hybrid.

As she lifts her fork, she deems this a victory dinner.

(without the fine wine of course)


End file.
